


Summer Afternoon

by Haldane



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Light-Hearted, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a small piece, a bit of cheery smut with no deep intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Afternoon

I remember very clearly the summer afternoon that it happened. Holmes and I had successfully concluded a case in the south of France, and Holmes had declared a short holiday was in order before returning to Baker Street. We had settled on a week's walking, setting deliberately low goals for each day, and hired a local guide with a stout pony to cater for the luggage.

It was the fifth day of our tour. We had lingered over lunch, on the side of a low hill with spectacular views across the vineyards and orchards of the region. A broad river curved lazily across the bottom of the valley, and the strong sunlight brought out the most amazing shades of green imaginable.

Holmes had conferred with the guide, and then sent him ahead to arrange our accommodation for the night. I was three-quarters asleep already, and Holmes laughed as he came back, tipping my hat forwards over my eyes and going to sit and smoke on a low boulder a few yards away. I remember drifting off in the warm silence of the afternoon, with the familiar scent of Holmes' tobacco in the air.

It must have been a good hour later that I awoke. I glanced around, noticing that Holmes had slid down from his seat on the boulder and was now leaning back against it, long legs stretched out before him on the grass. 

His head was tilted back against the rock, and he lay quite still. In a spirit of mischief I got up as silently as possible. He had often woken me from sleeping, but I rarely saw him sleep at all and could not resist the chance to suddenly shake his shoulder and demand we get moving at once.

As I drifted up behind him in the quiet afternoon, I realised I had made a mistake. He was not asleep after all, but instead engaged in a most intimate activity, his right hand moving rhythmically in his lap. Holmes had obviously given way to the seclusion of our location and his supposed privacy; I should not have been so surprised, except for the long-held idea that physical passions had no place in his life.

I should have left him to it. But I could not seem to stop myself from taking the slightest step forwards, and leaning just a little to one side to improve my view.

I suppose I had subconsciously assumed that Holmes' member would be slender as the rest of him; but in truth it jutted proudly, thick and swollen in the sunlight, and my breath caught in my throat. I was overwhelmed with memories of my time in India, when I had known the heady pleasures of male flesh straining vigorously against mine, the feel of both taking and being taken with strength instead of fragility.

"Interesting. You have totally failed to recoil in horror at the sight of my activity," Holmes commented, eyes still closed against the sun's light.

Caught unawares, I blurted out the truth. "Indeed, I am well used to doing a great deal more than simply look on at such pastimes."

Holmes opened his eyes then, gazing at me and smiling slowly. He shifted his hips forwards on the grass, and placed both hands behind his head, deliberately presenting himself. "Come, then. Show me your prowess in this field."

I needed no second invitation. I dropped to my knees beside him, and gripped his shaft firmly, stroking downwards in relish at having such a partner again. I let my fingers trail down over his sac, and bent my face low over his groin to inhale his musk, strong in the warm air that surrounded us. Then I was swept away by arousal, and sucked his length eagerly into my mouth.

Holmes gasped, and his hands reached down and tangled in my hair. I laughed deep in my chest at having surprised him so, and went about my task with increased enthusiasm. I was already hard in my trousers, as I savoured the solid flesh in my mouth, mapping out every detail of ridge and vein with my tongue and revelling in the salty taste.

"Make it good and wet," Holmes whispered luridly. "You're be glad of it in a minute." His meaning was plain enough to me, and I fumbled at my buttons, suddenly desperate to free myself from my confining clothing. I felt his hands assisting, pulling my trousers off from my hips and then caressing the exposed skin of my buttocks. I had to break off to breathe, and it was Holmes' turn to laugh.

"Stay as you are," he said, moving out from under me where I crouched on the grass. He knelt behind me, long fingers probing intently into my crevice and between my legs, and when he presented his hand in front of my mouth I sucked and licked his fingers without hesitation.

His wet fingers breeched me, one at first, but only briefly before being joined by a second. I had been telling the truth when I said I was accustomed to these practices, and my flesh knew what it wanted. I thrust back into his hand, urging him to continue his attentions.

Holmes did not leave me waiting long. He thrust, hard and a little awkward at first, but soon we hit a rhythm together, his hands tight on my hipbones and my arms propped to support me against his movement.

It was incredibly arousing, all the more so for my having gone without a male touch for so long. My cockstand was hard and aching, but as I reached for it Holmes stopped me.

"Allow me," he murmured, as calmly as if holding open a door. One of his hands snaked forward to squeeze tightly around my shaft, immediately setting a fast pace that well suited my state. I groaned aloud and leant back harder into him, and he sped up his thrusting, slamming deeply into my body.

We could not expect it to last long. I am not sure who climaxed first, or if we came together. I remember Holmes crying out my name at the moment of release, and the tingling wave that swept over me as I experienced the most intense pleasure of my life. Then we were side by side in the grass, panting and sticky in the sunlight, a gentle breeze drying the sweat on our skin.

I looked across at Holmes, and found him looking at me. I smiled, and he returned it, lazy and satisfied as a well-fed cat in front of a fire. It was a rare expression on his features, but I suspected that I would be seeing it more often; and hopefully soon.


End file.
